Monday, 9 November 2015

Page 1 critique - "With Great Power" by Terri Jones

It's very hard to separate one's tastes from a technical critique. There are page 1s from popular books with which I would find multiple faults. I didn't, for example, like page 1 of Terry Goodkind's Wizard's First Rule (I didn't pursue the rest of the book). But that book has 150,000+ ratings on Goodreads, a great average score of 4.12 and Goodkind is a #1 NYT bestseller. His first page clearly did a great job for many people.

I'm not always right *hushed gasp*. You will likely be able to find a successful and highly respected author who will tell you the opposite to practically every bit of advice I give. Possibly not the same author in each case though.

The art of receiving criticism is to take what's useful to you and discard the rest. You need sufficient confidence in your own vision/voice such that whilst criticism may cause you to adjust course you're not about to do a U-turn for anyone. If you act on every bit of advice you'll get crit-burn, your story will be pulled in different directions by different people. It will stop being yours and turn into some Frankenstein's monster that nobody will ever want to read.

Additionally - don't get hurt or look for revenge. The person critiquing you is almost always trying to help you (it's true in some groups there will be the occasional person who is jealous/mean/misguided but that's the exception, not the rule). That person has put in effort on your behalf. If they don't like your prose it's not personal - they didn't just slap your baby.

I've flicked through some of the pages looking for one where I have something to say - something that hopefully is useful to the author and to anyone else reading the post.

I've posted the unadulterated page first then again with comments inset and at the end.

Denny drifted awake so slowly, and with so little sensation, that he might have been floating in space. Warm, calm space. It was easy to push away the anxious childhood dream to replace that with a ship, sleeping quarters, all his intentional family near him in the dark. Somewhere near was Karen, curled like her black hair. Everyone curled because that’s what bodies do, sleeping in zero-g. Lanky Aaron would be not far away, ship’s doctor, blond hair going gray. Near him, business-like Brenda the commander. He smiled. Their daughter LeAnn near them of course. She’d wake laughing, she’d love this.

The imaginary spaceship took form; he turned the other way and there was Jennifer, cool blond lover. Careful, though. She’d be zipped in a bag, tidy… She would, too. Science Officer, obviously. He smiled in the dark as he added Spock ears and upswept eyebrows.

Discomfort intruded. He actually was curled, back to back against Karen. It was still full dark outside. He sighed, snuggled in, and tried to drift off again. Karen murmured something in her sleep. He listened, but none of it made sense this time. And he really had to pee. Stupid body. Carefully, he got himself off the bed. She stayed asleep. Pleased with himself, he left their room.

The house was quiet. He padded along the open hall to the bathroom, moving faster as nature’s call grew more urgent. He batted the door to close it, but not hard enough. Oh well, no time. He did his business, reciting the needlepoint over the toilet, cleaned up, and got a sip of water from the faucet. He’d turned toward the door when it hit him.

He turned back to the sink.

“What…?”

He could see every detail of the faucet. Now he realized in a rush that he’d seen the hall below the rail outside the door, the far side of the second floor hall. In here, the toilet as he used it. Over it, he’d read his mom’s framed needlepoint: “’To know how sweet your home may be Just go away…But keep the key’.” And as he often did when he read it, he’d added, “Hi, Mom. Miss you.” This time, he realized, he’d finally noticed that one missed stitch. She’d apologized for it when he opened it, so like her. Everything was sharp. His image was clear in the mirror, lit by the dim nightlight.

Did he leave his contacts in? No. There was the overnight container. And this was better. He frowned at the light behind the antique Star Wars nightlight, and blinked at a minor distortion of some kind. Okay. Not that perfect. He reached for the door.

Froze.

Tried to wrap his brain around... Without sensation, his hand was in the door. He became aware of his own short, sharp breaths and made himself stop that. But the slow breath came in through his teeth. He waved his hand. He felt nothing. It was as if the door didn’t exist. Or he didn’t.

Denny drifted awake so slowly, and with so little sensation, that he might have been floating in space. Warm, calm space. It was easy to push away the anxious childhood dream to replace that with a ship, sleeping quarters, all his intentional family near him in the dark.

So as first sentences go this isn't really a great hook. Someone is waking up gently. By line 3 we learn that the allusions to space maybe close to the truth - this might be a spaceship. 'Intentional' raises a question - if it's an important one and we get an answer soon, then that's good.

Somewhere near was Karen, curled like her black hair. Everyone curled because that’s what bodies do, sleeping in zero-g. Lanky Aaron would be not far away, ship’s doctor, blond hair going gray. Near him, business-like Brenda the commander. He smiled. Their daughter LeAnn near them of course. She’d wake laughing, she’d love this.

Now we're getting a roll-call. Karen, Aaron, LeAnn, along with hair colour for two of them. Aaron we also learn is lanky and going grey. It's good to drop into action, dialogue and a problem on page 1. An introduction to several characters - not so good. Additionally it's common to see lots of people introduced by their hair, but not in my opinion a particularly interesting way to do things. That's secondary though - introduce by hair if you must - but not on page 1, not sleeping characters who don't do anything.

Writers often feel they need to set the scene - but what you really need is to give me a reason to keep reading. Unroll that reason, the problem, the threat, the excitement, the really interesting thing, and as you do it slide in glimpses of the setting until I can see it all (or enough).

The imaginary spaceship took form; he turned the other way and there was Jennifer, cool blond lover. Careful, though. She’d be zipped in a bag, tidy… She would, too. Science Officer, obviously. He smiled in the dark as he added Spock ears and upswept eyebrows.

This lost me a bit. It's dark so he's having to imagine the spaceship? Or isn't he in a spaceship. If it's dark how does he see Jennifer. And here we have another character and another hair intro. I'm OK with the Spock thing - it's a glimpse into his character and setting at the same time - two in one is always good - but this should be your indulgence, not one of many.

Discomfort intruded. He actually was curled, back to back against Karen. It was still full dark outside. He sighed, snuggled in, and tried to drift off again. Karen murmured something in her sleep. He listened, but none of it made sense this time. And he really had to pee. Stupid body. Carefully, he got himself off the bed. She stayed asleep. Pleased with himself, he left their room.

So ... the spaceship and all those other people were ... just a dream? Readers hate dreams. You can't have used up half your first page on a dream?

The house was quiet. He padded along the open hall to the bathroom, moving faster as nature’s call grew more urgent. He batted the door to close it, but not hard enough. Oh well, no time. He did his business, reciting the needlepoint over the toilet, cleaned up, and got a sip of water from the faucet. He’d turned toward the door when it hit him.

A lot of mechanical description here. This is page one of a book. I can put it down and walk away. You really can't use it up on failing to close the toilet door or sipping water from the faucet.

He turned back to the sink.

“What…?”

He could see every detail of the faucet. Now he realized in a rush that he’d seen the hall below the rail outside the door, the far side of the second floor hall. In here, the toilet as he used it. Over it, he’d read his mom’s framed needlepoint:

I'm not sure how seeing every detail of the faucet on the sink he's standing next to is news. I don't understand why you're telling me he saw the hall or what "In here, the toilet as he used it." is supposed to mean...

“’To know how sweet your home may be Just go away…But keep the key’.” And as he often did when he read it, he’d added, “Hi, Mom. Miss you.” This time, he realized, he’d finally noticed that one missed stitch. She’d apologized for it when he opened it, so like her. Everything was sharp. His image was clear in the mirror, lit by the dim nightlight.

a) Why are we being told this after the event - why not as it happened.

b) Why are we being told it at all?

Did he leave his contacts in? No. There was the overnight container. And this was better. He frowned at the light behind the antique Star Wars nightlight, and blinked at a minor distortion of some kind. Okay. Not that perfect. He reached for the door.

So ... his eyesight is better than it normally is? But not perfect.

Froze.

Tried to wrap his brain around... Without sensation, his hand was in the door. He became aware of his own short, sharp breaths and made himself stop that. But the slow breath came in through his teeth. He waved his hand. He felt nothing. It was as if the door didn’t exist. Or he didn’t.

Was he dead? He eyed mirror-Denny. He was losing his mind.

Now his hand is passing through the door as if it's an illusion and Denny naturally wonders if he's going crazy (or, I guess, if he's dreaming).

++++++++++++

This page 1 is a bit all over the place. None of the information presented in the first half is particularly gripping and it doesn't seem to connect to the second half.

The only piece of dialogue is "What..." and "Hi, Mom. Miss you." The internal commentary is thin on the ground too. A conversation is always good (in my view) at drawing a reader in, and if the character is on their own, let them have a conversation with themselves. Not too much - but some.

Setting - you want it - but you want to deliver it painlessly in the spaces between the thing that's happening. Here you've got two settings (spaceship/house) so a lot of work to do.

Characters - we like characters - not too many at first, and only when needed. You really don't want to be introducing characters who aren't there...

Problem! We need a problem. Well, you don't. I mean not every book has to open with two men kicking down the front door and spraying bullets. And if you're an author with a loyal following they may give you the luxury of several chapters to warm up. But if you're hoping to snag an agent, a publisher, a first time reader... you want to give them zero excuse to look away. You want a source of tension. It can be a problem that needs solving or threat that needs escaping. Failing that you need a character that's so interesting they grab the reader and drag them on. Ideally you want all of those things at once.

I can't guess where your story is going - perhaps he's really on the spaceship and this house is some holodeck thing. Perhaps it's another dream (please no). But the problem is what you've given us on the last line and really this page would work much better if that were the first line.

Possible line 1s:

It wasn't until Denny found he couldn't touch anything that he realized he was losing his mind.

Denny was on the toilet when he first realized he was dead. An epiphany of sorts. He stopped peeing mid-flow.

then let it unfold...

Anyhow - these are just my thoughts - perhaps others will offer some more in comments below. Remember all the blurb I put up front and take whatever seems as if it might help. Knowing where the reader's confusion arises can be very useful - they don't know what you do and it can be difficult to keep that in mind.

3 comments:

Descriptions like unfocused, languid and ambient came to mind as I was reading this. It's not really descriptive writing, and it doesn't really set a scene. Perhaps that is the intended effect. It seemed as though it was trying to establish the character's state of mind, or being, rather than telling the story. I don't know what an "intentional family," is. The introduction of multiple other characters gets in the way, although it's useful if we ever want recall their descriptions. The only one who might matter is Karen, if she's there when he wakes. There are a few too many incidental details that get in the way. We don't need to know about his relationship with his mother at this stage. You don't need too many disparate example to demonstrate that his sight is somehow different. He may indeed look at the needlepoint every time he goes to the toilet, but it's not the most useful information for the reader in this context. Whatever action he is performing should contain the thing that alerts him to his change of vision. You've given us two things, the change in sight, and the hand passing through the door. Either one could be the start of a mystery to explore and explain. I don't think both are needed together. One is obviously potentially more dramatic than the other. Just my brief thoughts, for what they are worth, and hopefully not repeating too much of what Mark has already said.